


arms that always hold

by jcp_sob_rjl_lmep



Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is Batman, Damian Wayne is Robin, Damian was raised in a messed up way and he's trying to come to terms with it, Fluff, Gen, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcp_sob_rjl_lmep/pseuds/jcp_sob_rjl_lmep
Summary: Damian needs to prove himself to Bruce. If he can push himself, he can prove that he earned that the position of Robin and his father won't send him back to the League.He doesn't want to go back to the League.Besides, is sleep all that important anyways?
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne
Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907791
Comments: 10
Kudos: 104





	arms that always hold

Damian was unacceptably slow this morning. Usually, he woke in time to see the sunrise as he did his morning workout and practice katas. Then he showered and went downstairs to meet Pennyworth in the kitchen, sitting in silence for a while until Father came down to take a piece of toast on his way out to work at WE. Honestly, Damian wasn’t sure how the man functioned; he was constantly running late. Damian had been trained out of that at a young age, as was proper.

He refused to shudder at the thought of what would have happened to him if he had had a morning such as this one when he lived with the League. Firstly, he had woken to the sound of Father’s feet thudding as he made his way down the stairs, the sun already shining into his eyes. Damian had school, of course, so he had no time to work out or do his katas; he barely had time for a shower before he was throwing on his Gotham Academy uniform and making his way downstairs.

Something was wrong. Damian felt dazed. As he walked down the hallway, he was forced to lean against the wall, and when he made his way down the stairs, he gripped the railing tightly, coming to the unfortunate conclusion that he was in danger of falling if he did not. The world was hazy, and he blinked hard in an attempt to clear his eyes, letting out a ‘tt’ of annoyance as it didn’t work. He stopped for a moment to lean against the wall, letting his eyes slip closed.

Damian jolted awake when his head dipped, knocking solidly but painlessly into the wooden panel on the wall. Immediately he scowled, shoving himself away from its grounding presence, then regretted it, tensing his muscles and holding his body tightly to stop himself from falling to the ground.

He had been poisoned. That was the only explanation he could consider for why his body was failing him.

“Damian!” A woman’s voice snapped from behind him. He straightened his posture.

“Mother?” The word fell thick from his lips; he felt as though he was struggling through rabri, attempting to turn his head and look at her.

“This is unacceptable behavior, Damian,” She continued harshly; the voice came closer as the sentence continued. Unable to help himself, he ducked his head, the sunlight of Nanda Parbat streaming hot and harsh down on him, causing him to sweat through his expensive robes. “You are the heir to the Demon’s Head, Ibn al Xu’ffasch. You know that you must carry yourself with grace everywhere you go. YOU KNOW THIS-”

Damian hunched even further, hopelessly avoiding the blow he knew was coming as his mother’s voice rose to a roaring scream-

But he wasn’t there, and his mother wasn’t here. He was crouched on the floor of his father’s ancestral home, gripping the carpet and breathing harshly. No blow was coming. Angrily, he struggled to his feet. Poisoned or not, his mother was correct. This was unacceptable behavior for one of his breeding and standard - this was conduct more suited to Drake than Damian.

He forced himself to stand in the middle of the hallway and walk, unwavering, accepting no support from the house itself. This was a momentary weakness, and Damian would overcome it, as he had been forced to overcome many obstacles in his life. He could accept no support because support was not guaranteed; Damian must learn to operate on his own.

He held himself so tightly that his muscles had begun to ache by the time he reached the kitchen where Pennyworth remained, finishing up the morning dishes before he drove Damian to school.

Damian accepted no support from the doorframe. It just so happened to be behind his shoulder, and he was not going to show weakness in front of Pennyworth, so he could not shove himself away from it again.

“Master Damian,” Pennyworth greeted. Damian idly wondered why the man was whispering, why the lights were spinning, why everything was going dark...

* * *

“Master Damian!” Alfred pushed himself around the counter, moving fast enough to catch the boy just before the small head could make contact with the tile floors; he gathered Damian into his arms, sitting back on his haunches and resting the boy on his thighs, holding him firmly in one arm as he ran through his quick health checks-pulse, breathing, eyes, visible bleeding.

Everything was fine; Damian breathed deep and slow, his pulse strong and steady, with no wounds, contusions, bruises, or anything else Alfred could think of anywhere to be found on the small body. Unless, of course, it was under his clothes, but Alfred was not going to begin stripping a ten-year-old in his kitchen just to look for bruises. Luckily, Bruce had already left for work; he had always been prone to over-exaggeration when it came to his children being injured. Although, Alfred supposed most parents didn’t have to worry about their children being hurt because they had snuck out the night before to take on Two-Face by themselves.

Damian shifted in his arms; Alfred gently supported him as green eyes rolled open.

“Master Damian,” he said for the third time that morning. “If you wished for my attention, you simply could have said my name, lad. No need to go to theatrics.”

“P’nnyw’rth…” his youngest charge slurred.

“Right here, Master Damian,” Alfred replied patiently. “Now then, when was the last time you slept properly?”

“Las’ night,” Damian furrowed his brow, visibly trying to remember.

“And how long was that?” Alfred got his feet under him and stood, still holding the boy. Damian was more dazed than he had originally believed, as he didn’t complain at all at their change in position. Luckily, Alfred regularly helped support the boy's father’s weight; Damian, although large for a ten-year-old, was still slight compared to Bruce.

“Seven hours,” Damian finally determined. “It’s unacceptable.”

That, more than anything, convinced Alfred that he was coming back to himself.

“Master Damian, you should, by all rights, be getting ten to eleven hours of sleep at night.”

“I am not lazy, Pennyworth!” That fire lit back up in Damian’s eyes. “I have never had to get that much sleep, my usual schedule of six hours is more than sufficient.”

“Absolutely not,” Alfred disagreed. “Master Damian, do you wish to outgrow your brothers and perhaps even your father one day?”

He waited for a response until finally, Damian mumbled a, “Yes.” Alfred continued, “If you do not get the full amount of sleep needed for someone of your size and age, you run the danger of stunting your growth and remaining one of the smaller members of the family.”

This perplexed Damian; he chewed the problem over in his head as Alfred carried him from the kitchen, even accepting a change in position when Alfred shifted him, pillowing his head on Alfred’s shoulder and wrapping his legs around the man's torso.

“Mother said that if I am not awake at the proper times of the day, I am unworthy of my position as the heir to the Demon’s Head and Batman,” Damian finally said.

“Hogwash,” Alfred decreed immediately. “Do you realize how many naps I have woken your father from over the course of even just this past week? The number is practically uncountable, Master Damian. Of all the things that could make you weak, I promise you, sleep is not one of them.”

He reached his destination: the family room most often used by the family, as shown by its population of soft things, warm things, and soft and warm things.

“If I do not prove myself to Father, he’ll send me back to Mother,” Damian said quietly. Alfred could feel small fingers worrying at the back of his suit jacket. “I do not wish to go back to Mother.”

“If your father tries to send you back to your mother, he’ll have to go through me,” Alfred said firmly, plucking up a blanket on his way to the stuffed armchair that his grandchildren tended to favor for naps. As he sat, he deftly tucked the blanket around Damian; it was on the larger side, likely meant for Bruce or Jason, so it dwarfed the boy, burying him in soft layers and pressing him closer to Alfred’s embrace. “However, there is nothing within your power that could make your father send you back to her, apart from you asking to go back under safe circumstances.”

Damian let out a soft wounded noise, the tension in his limbs releasing. He’d grown up in a desert, Alfred remembered; what was comfortable for the rest of the family was likely still colder than Damian could be comfortable with. He made a mental note to buy some heating devices for Damian’s rooms, as well as to consult with Bruce on raising the heat to the rest of the Manor.

“Master Damian, you could walk up to your father right now and tell him that you no longer wished to be Robin and in fact never wanted to go fight crime again, and I daresay he would be pleased. Your worth and place in this family is not dependant on your role in your father’s nighttime activities, and your father and all of your siblings would agree.”

Damian shuddered, just once, and Alfred was reminded of long nights spent in these halls comforting crying children over the years. As much as it had hurt him to hear their cries, it ached that Damian didn’t cry, not even a tear. The pain that this little boy had gone through… It made him wish that he had been able to hold Damian sooner, to reach inside that prickly wall, and find the sweet boy that loved animals and would go out into the garden just to ramble to Alfred about the newest critter he had discovered outside. He had lacked love growing up, until he came to them, until he came home; and even now, he didn’t understand how to show the love that he did feel for his family.

“Sleep, dearest,” Alfred said, firm and soft. “If anyone disapproves of that, I will be there to put them in their place.”

Finally, the little boy drifted off, snug and safe in his grandfather’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! For the first time since 2015, I'm attempting NaNoWriMo! This is good for all of you, as you can expect several weeks of Batfam Bingo fills. This fills my "Sleep Deprivation" square. To see my card, check out the link in this series' page.  
> The title is from the quote “Grandpa has ears that truly listen, arms that always hold, love that's never-ending, and a heart that's made of gold.”  
> Beta-d by [TheQueerestWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueerestWriter/pseuds/TheQueerestWriter).  
> Downloads are fine but please don't post this anywhere else without my permission.  
> Feel free to come catch me on [tumblr](https://iwillstaywiththemforever.tumblr.com).  
> Love you all and I will hopefully see you tomorrow!


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